


Junior Year (and Other Disasters of Magnificent Proportion)

by crashing_into_the_sun



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: (or like 2am drives but oh well), AU, Angst, Baz Pitch - Freeform, Baz on a motorcycle amirite, Fluff, Gay, High School, Highschool AU, M/M, Multichapter, Simon Snow - Freeform, Simon is sad, Simon shirtless TWICE ALREADY (ur sold now aren't u), SnowBaz, TW- abandonment, TW- alcohol, TW- alcoholism, Waffles, carry on, midnight drives, more angst than fluff atm, simon in a sweater
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 07:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7967464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashing_into_the_sun/pseuds/crashing_into_the_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon Snow has it made- he has a beautiful girlfriend, he's acing Geometry, and he just made varsity on the swim team. Everything is lining up for the perfect junior year. That is, until a strange new boy comes to town, and everything Simon thinks he knows about himself is turned upside down.</p><p>AKA Simon/Baz in high school</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I counted my steps over the blue-tiled floor as I walked to Geometry. Exactly eighteen paces from my locker to Mrs. Possibelf’s room. Sunlight dappled in through the shutters, creating yellow stripes on the rug in front of the window. I made my way to my usual seat at the back of the classroom, nodding at Penelope in a friendly way. She smiled wide, and her round, childlike cheeks puffed out, revealing deep dimples on both sides of her face. I sat down and took out my textbook, then popped headphones in my ears and tried my hardest to zone out. 

A buzzing alerted me that the late bell had rung, and I folded up my headphones and stuffed them into my pocket. Mrs. Possibelf hurried into the room, looking flustered as usual. She wore a bright yellow feather boa and a purple floral dress. Her shoes were little red pumps, and huge golden hoops dangled from her ears. “Let me just take attendance,” she said in her breathy way as she settled into her chair at the front of the class.

“Elspeth?”

“Here.”

“Trixie?”

“Here.”

“Simon?”

“Here,” I said boredly, drumming my pencil against my leg. Taptaptaptaptap. Mrs. Possibelf continued down the list. I drowned her out.

“Tyrannus?” The name was so unfamiliar that it jolted me out of my stupor. Tyrannus? What kind of unforgiving parent would name their child Tyrannus? And how had I missed the appearance of someone with such a striking moniker? I glanced around, but saw no unfamiliar faces in the room. “Tyrannus?” she repeated. “Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch?”

You know how sometimes, in movies and TV shows and stuff, time will slow down when something important happens? That’s how you know it’s going to be important. Some sort of dramatic music will start playing, and the camera will hone in on someone as they walk into the room, that sort of thing? And in that second, you know that everything is going to change, even if you don’t know why.

That was what happened when Basilton Pitch walked into the room on that first day.

He breezed in as if he was in exactly the predicament everyone wanted to be in (which wasn’t the case at all- Mrs. Possibelf was fairly free with detentions) and surveyed the room. I could hear everyone holding their breath as his gaze passed over us. His presence was commanding. “Here,” he said to Mrs. Possibelf with a cheeky grin, and leaned against the wall. He had a suitjacket slung over one shoulder and he oozed nonchalance. With his free hand, he fiddled with his red bow tie.

“If you’d sit down and join us, it would be much appreciated, Mr. Pitch,” Mrs. Possibelf said, a hint of irritation in her voice. 

“Alright,” he replied, like it was an offer rather than an order. He took his sweet time, shrugging the jacket back on and buttoning it carefully before he began to move. His smile morphed into a smirk. Everyone was watching him, wondering about him- where he’d come from, why he was dressed like he was, what he was going to do next- and he knew it. It looked as though he thrived off the attention, drinking in the limelight.

His eyes were like grey ice chips as they settled on mine. He sauntered to the back of the class and took his place in the empty desk to my right.

My heart pounded so intensely I was sure he’d hear it. He didn’t say a word to me, just reached over and took the extra pencil from my desk and tucked it behind his ear. I wasn’t sure what he was planning to do with it, considering he didn’t have a book or a piece of paper. “You’ll have a textbook by the end of the week, Mr. Pitch,” Mrs. Possibelf told him, and he tipped his chin up ever so slightly in response.

The lesson began. I strained to focus, but my head was spinning. I forced myself not to look at the boy next to me. It was impossible. It felt like he was pulling my eyes towards him, emitting some sort of force that was drawing me in. He smelled like cedar and bergamot and some sort of spicy cologne. I drummed my pencil quicker. Taptaptaptaptaptap. It thudded against my thigh. I heard him shift in his seat, and I allowed myself a quick glance at his feet. He’d slipped them out of his shiny dress shoes and had his ankles crossed. I stifled a laugh when I saw his socks- rainbow stripes on one, pink and purple stars on the other.

The minutes dragged on and on. Geometry was my favorite class of the day, but I couldn’t wait to get out of it. Something about this Tyrannus kid was making me dizzy. I liked math because it made sense. This aura he had- it didn’t make sense. The bell rang, and I felt the tension release like air coming out of a balloon. I hurried out of the class, disconcerted and confused.

“Simon?” Agatha was waiting by my locker, looking lovely in a pale blue skirt and a white top that looked like gossamer. “Are you alright?”

“Sure,” I muttered vaguely, trying to smile. She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t ask. 

Agatha began walking away, her hips swinging. When she realized I wasn’t following her, she glanced back, pale blonde brows furrowed. “Aren’t you coming? It’s lunchtime. Penny’s probably already waiting at our table.”

I’d just started to take a step forward when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Agatha looked a bit surprised. “I’ll meet you in the cafeteria,” she said as I turned around.

It was him. 

I felt a blush playing across my cheeks, and I was confused? Why was I blushing? I took an involuntary step back. “Oh, um, h-hi. Tyrannus, right?”

He shook his head and ran a hand through his long, black hair. It wasn’t dark brown, it was pure black. “No one calls me that,” he said. His voice was husky and deeper than I’d expected. “You can call me Baz.”

“Baz,” I repeated stupidly.

“Yeah,” he said. We stood there for an awkward moment. He seemed to be waiting for something. I blushed harder. “And you are?”

“Oh!” I gushed. Of course. I was supposed to introduce myself. “I’m Simon. Simon Snow.” I held out my hand for a handshake. He ignored it.

“That’s… unusual,” he said. I knew my cheeks must be purple. I lowered my hand, feeling like a complete dolt.

“Not as unusual as Tyrannus,” I managed to choke out, and he let out a short laugh, the kind that ends before it really begins.

“I suppose,” he said, leaning in a little. His voice was almost conspiratorial as he whispered the next words into my ear, sending chills down my spine. He was so close. I wanted to move away, but for some reason, I didn’t. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the lunchroom was, would you, Snow?”

“The lunchroom… well, it’s… it’s just…” I felt like I was tripping over my tongue. “Follow me,” I told him, grateful for an opportunity to step away. There was a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that was making me uncomfortable. I went to the lunchroom, ignoring him as best I could. Instead of behind me, he was right next to me, his gait easily overtaking mine. His legs were long, long, long, and he was tall, tall, tall. 

He seemed to feel my gaze on him, looking at his mile-long legs encased in the navy blue pants, and he chuckled in a way that seemed immoral. I looked away at light speed, plastering my gaze to my black Converses.

We reached the lunchroom soon enough, and he started to turn the opposite direction I did. “By the way, Snow,” he said at the last moment. “You forgot your pencil.” I whirled back towards him as he retrieved it from behind his ear. Before I could reach for it, he tucked it behind mine, his spindly fingers brushing my cheek. His hands were cold, and my cheeks were hot from blushing. I swallowed hard, my Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“You can call me Simon,” I said in what was almost a whisper. He smirked again, a crooked, devilish thing.

“I know I can, Snow. I can do whatever I want.” And then he was gone, leaving me with a sinking feeling in my gut. Something was happening, and I wasn’t sure whether I was liking it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon misses the bus. Chaos ensues (and also lots of blushing) (keep it together, Simon).

“Shit,” I said, pacing around the parking lot as I watched the tail end of the bus disappear around the corner. “I can’t believe I missed the fucking bus, again.” It was the third time in the last month, not to mention the weather was miserable. It looked like rain for sure. I cursed again under my breath, kicking a rock in frustration. It bounced a few times, then knocked against the trunk of a tree and stopped. There was no other way for me to get home. My phone was dead, so this time, I couldn’t even call Agatha to save me. I had two options- wait until Dad got off work and pray he wasn’t too drunk to come get me, or walk the six miles home and hope it didn’t rain too hard.

Neither of those seemed terribly appealing at the moment. I took one last look up at the sky- yeah, definitely rain, and soon. I didn’t think I could stomach such a long walk in the rain, and anyway Dad got off at six. That was only three hours, just as long as it would take me to walk. I sighed and rubbed away the tears of frustration pricking at my eyes. I didn’t even have a book to read while I waited.

The clouds thickened, and I could feel the moisture in the air. I made my way over to a tree with thick foliage and sank down beneath it, hoping it would provide some protection. I wasn’t allowed back into the school unless I had an after school club, and the only extracurricular activity I did was swim, which wasn’t held at the school anyway. _Shit_. I was going to miss swim. This day just kept getting better and better. I held my head between my hands and tried not to cry. One tear slipped out from my eye and ran down my cheek down onto my lips. I darted my tongue out to catch it, salty and hot.

“Alright there, Snow?” The voice startled me, and I jumped and snapped my head up so hard it knocked against the trunk of the tree. It was _him_. Of course it was.

“I’m fine,” I managed to get out. “At least, I will be.”

“What do you mean by that?” Baz asked, sauntering over towards me. I tried to keep my composure. He moved with such fluidity. I found myself wondering if he wasn’t a dancer.

“I just.. I have to wait here a while, is all.”

“You look as though you’ve been crying,” he replied, and surprisingly, he didn’t sound like he was mocking me. His deep grey eyes looked genuinely concerned. Something about the truth in his face made me feel very vulnerable.

“I guess I have, a bit. It’s nothing. I’m just being a big baby,” I said, feeling the blush creep up my neck. What was up with this guy? What was up with _me_? I’d blushed more today than I had in months, and it surely had something to do with him.

“It’s going to rain, you know,” he said, crouching down next to me, elbows on his knees. “You probably shouldn’t be out here in the rain. You’ll freeze.”

“I’ll be alright. Don’t worry.” Out here, he was more approachable. Inside, in cramped hallways and classrooms, with the glaring white fluorescent lights that lit the school, he demanded attention, looking harsh, cruel even. But outside in the sunlight, he seemed friendlier. His hair caught the sunlight and it was so black it was almost blue.

“I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here in the rain,” Baz said, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. “Why are you waiting, anyway?”

“It’s dumb,” I began, fumbling for words again. “I just missed my bus and stuff. No ride, I don’t have a ride. To- to swim practice in fifteen minutes. I’m going to miss swim practice. At the college pool.”

He nodded, then stood up. “Wait here,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away. I watched him trod across the parking lot, his navy blue pants hugging his long, thin legs tightly. I hated tight pants, hated the way they made me look and the way they felt, but I had to admit, Baz pulled them off. Very well. I watched him until I couldn't see him anymore, and then I shut my eyes and leaned back against the tree.

I was almost convinced he wasn’t coming back when I heard a rumbling noise coming towards me. My eyes snapped open.

“Get on. I’m giving you a ride.” My mouth was agape. I shut it.

“On that thing? You want me to get on that? With you?” He sat on a sleek-looking black and red motorcycle, one foot on the ground. The ease he exuded suggested he’d been born on the thing. I was shaking at the idea- I’d never been on a motorcycle.

“What, you don't trust me?” He asked with a sly grin.

“Not particularly,” I mumbled, but I got up anyway. He feigned an offended look, then laughed. “Don’t you at least have a helmet?”

“Nope,” Baz said, smiling wider.

“Is everything a joke to you?” I asked, a little irritated. I hesitated for a moment before clambering awkwardly onto the bike behind him. A horrifying realization overtook me. This ride was going to have to be in _very_ close quarters.

Baz ignored my question. He eyed me with suspicion as I teetered precariously on the edge of the seat, trying not to touch him. “You can’t very well ride with me if you’re sitting so far away. You’ll tumble right off. And you don’t have a helmet, remember?” He smiled, and he was made of trouble. My voice failed, and I just shook my head. “I don’t bite,” he said in a coaxing voice. “Hard.”

I nearly choked. “But- but I- it's just- I-”

“Come on, Snow, we don’t have all day. It’s going to start pouring any minute now.”

I gave up and scooted closer, trying to ignore the pressure of his body against mine. My arms were shaking as I wrapped them around his waist, the soft fabric of his jacket pressing into my skin. His expensive, tailored suit looked out of place in this picture. Someone wearing a suit like that didn't belong on a motorcycle. _Not that I would rather he_ wasn't _wearing the suit_ , I mouthed to myself, then resisted the urge to clap my hand over my mouth. My face was on fire. I could feel the muscles in his abdomen when my clenched hands rested against his stomach. A spidery chill ran down my back. I told myself it was from the quickly cooling air.

“Hold on tight,” Baz said, and in that moment I was sure he knew every thought that had ever been in my head. I felt like an open book. He knew all my secrets, and I didn’t even know how old he was. Every response I had sputtered and died on my tongue. I was going to die of embarrassment. By the time the motorcycle began moving, I'd accepted my fate, but as we picked up speed, my heart jumped into my throat. My grip on his waist became vise-like.

“Maybe not squeeze me to death, Snow.” I loosened my arms imperceptibly. “I know how to handle this thing,” he said as he sped up, and his voice softened. “Don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe.” And with that, he turned onto the main road.

The wind whipped through my hair and stung my eyes. I struggled to keep them open against the pressure of it. A car drove by us and my fingers dug into his stomach. “Calm down, would you?” I could barely hear him.

I focused on loosening every muscle in my body, starting with my toes, and took a couple deep breaths to help level my head. The college wasn't so far away, and he'd ridden this to school without killing himself, at least. I was going to be fine. I shut my eyes and rested my cheek against his back, counting my breaths. I thought I heard Baz laugh, but I wasn't sure, and besides that, I didn't care. The smoothness of his jacket felt nice against my burning cheeks. I hoped we made it before the rain started.

Through the coat I could feel his sharp shoulder blades and the knots of vertebrae down his spine. He was extremely thin, but you could tell he was strong. His breathing was steady, and I tried to match mine to it. It helped a little, and before I knew it we'd come to a stop. I didn't dare move.

“We're here, Snow. You can open your eyes.” There was only a trace of teasing in the words. I released my grip around him and shook out my arms a little to relieve some tension, then ran my fingers through my hair (which was a complete and utter disaster, even worse than usual). His still looked just as pretty, wind blown and slicked back, revealing a severe widows peak and a zit on the top of his forehead. That surprised me. He seemed too put together to get acne. Suddenly I was self conscious of my own face, dotted with blackheads and freckles. He had near-perfect skin, save that one blemish.

“Careful. You're staring again,” Baz said. I slipped off the motorcycle, trying not to seem as embarrassed as I felt. It was a futile endeavor- the redness of my cheeks gave it away- but I could at least keep some semblance of dignity.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, and started walking away.

“Wait,” he called, just as I reached the door. “Is it an open practice?”

“What do you mean?” I inquired, not liking the look in his eyes. It was mischievous. It was off-putting.

“Can parents and friends come to watch?” I nodded hesitantly, still not understanding his curiosity.

“Alright,” Baz responded, and that was that. He went to park the bike. I couldn't help but wonder what had prompted the question... until I heard his unmistakable footsteps behind me. _Shit_ , I thought, definitely not for the first time that day. Not for the hundredth.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An account of what happened during (and after) swim practice.

The locker room seemed even more uncomfortable and daunting than usual. The floor was freezing on my feet, and the skin-tight swimming shorts I wore every day to swim practice were suddenly restrictive and exposing. I hesitated for a long while before pulling off my shirt. Ignoring the other few boys, I stalked awkwardly over to the mirror. I’d never really considered how I looked in my swimsuit, but I had to admit, it wasn’t terrible. I wished for looser bottoms, of course, but I had swimmer’s legs; strong calves and prominent muscles in my thighs. Above the waist I wasn’t quite so well-muscled (there’s a price you pay for all those scones, but it’s worth it), but my skin looked tan and golden, and my shoulders mostly made up for my not-so-wonderful stomach. They were broad and sturdy. My hair, as always, was a mess, but there was nothing I could do about that.

I wondered why I cared. Even when Agatha came to swim meets, I hadn’t really thought about the way I looked. I just assumed the answer was ‘mediocre’, and once I was in the water, I forgot all about it anyway. But now, with Baz standing out there next to the bleachers, chatting pleasantly with the parents and grinning in that mischievous, terrible way of his, I couldn’t put the thought out of my head.

Even wetting down my hair did nothing to tame it. I cursed myself, then I cursed Baz. That git always had perfect hair.

“Alright then, Simon?” Ebb asked as I exited the locker room. She was my swim coach, a tall woman with short blonde hair and severe cheekbones. I nodded at her distractedly. It was obvious she knew something was up, but she didn’t mention it. “We’re doing stamina today, not speed, so pace yourself. I know you have trouble with that sometimes.” She patted me on the back and I nodded again before going over to sit with the rest of my teammates.

A few tried to start conversations with me, but in all honesty, I barely knew any of their names. There was one, Dev, and another, Niall, that I knew from school, but I didn’t care much for them. At the moment I wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. My eyes were scanning the scant crowd for Baz. He wasn't hard to find among the few middle-aged moms that came to watch. Even they were swooning over him. It was disgusting.

“Alright, boys,” Ebb began her usual before-practice pep talk. I tried to focus on her words, but they were swimming around in my head and exiting before I could make any sense of them. “Today we’re working on long distances. You’re going to do 400 yards, take a break, and then do 200 more.” There were understandable groans, but I was excited. Distance wasn’t my favorite, but it would be nice to feel nothing but the burn in my muscles and the ache for oxygen in my lungs, the water rushing against my skin. That was why I did swim, really. Not because I loved the sport (although I did) but because of the way I didn’t have to think about anything while I was in the water.

Ebb released us and we stood poised to jump into the water when she blew her whistle. I attempted to zero in on the water and nothing else, but I couldn’t do it. I felt Baz’s gaze on me and glanced up. He caught my eye and gave me a devious thumbs-up. My heart jumped into my throat. It felt like my whole body was on fire. I was blushing so badly, and so instantaneously, that it almost felt unreal. I longed for the coolness of the water to break onto my flushed, hot skin. Ebb blew the whistle, and I was grateful for the reprieve. I swam, and I didn’t think. That was how I liked it.

By the end of the hour and a half, I’d forgotten almost completely about Baz. Most of my thoughts revolved around going home and eating twelve bowls of cereal, then passing out on the couch watching Netflix. I’d done an extra hundred yards, just for kicks, just to keep the confusing feelings that I was having for Baz from permeating my brain. I didn’t want to even acknowledge them. I hopped out of the pool and grabbed a towel from the rack, not even giving Baz a second glance as I sauntered tiredly off to the locker room to change.

I went into the shower stall and dialed the water up as hot as it would go. Peeling off my spandex shorts, I stepped into the steaming spray. The drastic difference in temperature sent pleasing chills through my body, and I just stood there a minute relishing the heat before I grabbed my shampoo from my bag and scrubbed it into my hair. The suds running down my back made my skin feel smooth and silky, and I decided to condition my hair as well, just to lengthen the shower. It felt so nice on my tired muscles. The conditioner made my hair soft and tamped it down a little, and it smelled of apples.

By the time I was done, I was the only one left in the locker room. I slung the towel over my hips and stuck my head under the hand dryer for a few minutes, mussing my hair around. There was a knock at the locker room door, sharp and urgent.

It shocked me so much that I jerked my head up, hitting it hard against the metal contraption. “Fucking hell,” I hissed, rubbing at the top of my head. It was already forming a lump. _God damnit_. “What?” I snapped, irritated.

Through the door, I heard Baz’s voice. “I’m not getting any younger out here, Snow.” I gulped. I’d forgotten he was here, that he was waiting on me.

“So leave,” I replied. I felt testy, and I could tell a headache was coming off. Waves of pain shot through me from the spot I’d banged my head. “I can walk home.”

“It is literally pouring buckets outside, and it’s getting dark. You’ll get pneumonia, or kidnapped, or something.” He sounded pretty irritated, too, and I smirked to myself. It was the first sign of any emotion other than the rehearsed ease I’d detected yet in his voice (other than, of course, his smug happiness at making me uncomfortable. It seemed to be a favorite pastime of his to make me blush).

“Then give me a minute, and quit your complaining,” I shot back. The door between us gave me a bit more courage. When I didn’t have to stare into his arrogant, intense grey eyes, I could speak a bit better. I pulled on my boxers and jeans, then socks and shoes. I hung the towel on a shower rod, then put on my sweatshirt, stuffing my wet shirt into my bag- I’d accidentally stepped on it as I got out of the shower. The hood went up and I slung my bag over my shoulder.

Baz looked amused when I stepped out of the locker room. He leaned against the wall with one hand, the other hanging against his leg with his thumb hooked in his belt loop. “Take that thing off,” he laughed at me, reaching over and flicking my hood down. “You look like a lout.”

“Are we taking the motorcycle again?” Although the first ride had gone without incident, I was still a little nervous.

“No, Snow, I figured we’d fly,” he teased, and I smiled fleetingly before setting off to the left. He didn’t move, and I looked back at him expectantly.

He stepped forward and grabbed me by the wrist, surprisingly gentle. “You’re going the wrong way,” he murmured, his voice dropping a few decibels. I smiled again, sheepish this time, and turned around, but he held his grip on my wrist for a few seconds longer. I felt tingly in the spot his hand had been when he let go, and I shook my hand out a bit.

“So,” Baz began as we stepped out into the rain. He pulled his suit jacket tighter around his thin shoulders. “You were pretty good in there, yeah?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, but then I realized what he was talking about. “Oh, right. I just made varsity this year.” He nodded.

We made our way slowly to the motorcycle, although the rain was pelting us at full speed. “Have you won lots of trophies?” He asked suddenly.

“Um… Quite a few, I suppose. Mostly second place trophies. A few first."

“That’s nice,” he replied, but I could sense an underlying tension in his words. I wondered what it was.

“What about you? Have you won a lot of things? I’m sure you have,” I said, hoping to cheer him up again, but it just seemed to darken his mood. We reached the bike, and he slung his leg over the seat and settled himself before answering.

“I used to play violin, a few years back. I was very good, one of the best of my age group. I won a lot of things for that, but I don't play anymore.” I resisted the urge to ask why not. I could tell by his tone that it was a closed subject. He cast his eyes downward. Sadness emanated from him. I couldn’t handle seeing him like this.

On a whim, I reached out and squeezed his hand. He looked surprised, and I’m sure I did as well. I pulled away just as quickly, embarrassed and fluttery.

“Where do you live?” He asked as I pulled myself onto the bike. This time I wasn’t so shy about curling into him. I wiped rain out of my eyes and put my hood up. Baz gave me a discouraged look, but didn’t say anything.

“Take a right out of here, then the next two lefts. It isn’t very far after that.”

The ride was quiet, and I hadn’t thought about it before we arrived at my house, but Baz was surely rich. Just one look at him and you could tell. He wore a very expensive-looking watch and he owned a motorcycle. For the first time, I was ashamed of my modest house with chipping paint and a ramshackle side porch. “This is it,” I said glumly as he stopped in the driveway. “Thank you for the ride.”

If he thought any less of me for the way my house looked, his eyes didn’t betray him. They were happy again, and almost dancing. “Do you have swim tomorrow?” He asked. I nodded.

“I’ll take you.” He said it like it was the obvious answer, like it was a no-brainier.

“But-”

“I’ll take you,” he interrupted, and turned the bike around. I stood in the driveway watching him leave until I couldn’t see him anymore, and then I made my way inside. I was almost sorry to see him go. Almost


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon doesn't exactly come from a happy family.

Dad’s car was in the drive, so I knew he was home. I was hoping he was asleep. I opened the door and stepped into the house, closing it behind me quietly. It was fucking _freezing_ \- he must have forgotten to turn on the heat again. I heard the television blaring from the living room, and my hopes were dashed- he was awake, and probably hammered.

“Dad, I’m home!” I called out. There was only a grunt in answer. I slipped off my shoes and put them by the door, then peeled off my socks and threw them into the laundry bin. The floor was icy on my feet. It’d been a long time since I'd eaten, a scone hurriedly shoved into my mouth at breakfast before dashing out the door, so I unwrapped a frozen pizza and stuck it in the oven. My hands hovered above the oven, trying to extract any possible heat from the air.

“C’mere Simon,” Dad said. I gulped. He didn't sound like he was in a bad mood (in fact, he sounded a bit _too_ happy) but I could never be sure.

“Alright,” I replied nervously, my voice just a little too quiet for him to hear over the blaring sitcom the TV was projecting. I made my way out to the living room, reluctant. Dad sat on the couch with hooded eyes and a beer bottle in his hand, empty but for a sip. His mouth was a little ajar and he stared at the television with frightening concentration. I wondered if he even knew I'd entered the room. I perched on the arm of the couch, waiting for him to snap out of his stupor.

Eventually, his eyes wandered from the TV and landed lazily on mine. “Simon, my boy!” He cried jovially, scooting forward and slinging an arm around my shoulders. He stunk of alcohol, but I still grinned. It was a rare occurrence, for my father to show me physical affection. I returned the embrace, burying my head into his shoulder for a meager few seconds before pulling away. The thing about my dad- he was only nice when he was sober or totally, hopelessly smashed, and he wasn’t either on a regular basis. More often he was in that in between state, just drunk enough to lose his temper with me at the drop of a hat, just sober enough know what to say, what to do that would hurt the most. If I let myself get too close to him on the good days, I’d learned, the bad days would feel so much worse.

“Hi, Dad,” I said, as nonchalant as I could muster. I forced a smile. “How was your day?”

“Was great,” he slurred, and I winced when his breath hit me. It was a disgusting mish-mash of spirits and morning breath, and I wondered how long it’d been since he brushed his teeth. The thought was so off-putting that I pushed it away. This was my dad, and he was being nice for a change. I should just enjoy it while it lasted.

“I’m glad,” I smiled, and this time it was real. “Mine was pretty good, too.”

“Who was that lad ‘n the motorcycle?” He asked, squinting. I didn't have too many friends, and he knew all of them that mattered; Penny and Agatha were the ones I was closest to, though sometimes Rhys and I would hang out and play video games at his house, and he'd come to dinner once (it was disastrous, to say the least). I could see why someone new would be disconcerting for him.

“Just a new kid,” I responded. The words felt like a fraud, but I didn’t know why. Should I have introduced him as my friend? We’d only met that morning (and ‘met’ seemed like the wrong word- it was a more one-sided thing. He'd practically thrown himself at me in Geometry, then followed me to the lunch room, lingered after school until he found me, intruded on my swim practice. The boy was relentless.)

“Looked filthy rich,” Dad muttered, and I could hear a dangerous edge in his voice. Money was something that he coveted, and it really boiled his blood that we didn’t have any of it. “That bike w’s top-notch.”

“I guess.” The conversation had reached a stalemate already. Anything I would want to say to him sounded wrong. “Pizza’s in the oven.”

“You’re a dream, Si,” he said with a laugh. “Lis’n, wouldja do me a favor?”

Shit. I knew where this was going.

“Dad, I really don’t want to call her again, she’s busy, it’s obvious that she doesn’t want to hear from me, she never answers, when she does she just-”

“It’s important this time,” he pleaded. My mother was the only thing other than money that set him off. He could never understand why she packed her bags and left- all I couldn't understand was why she didn't take me with her.

“ _It's better this way, I promise_ ,” she told me on the day she left. “ _I'll come back for you when I have everything sorted out. When it's safe and I've got a steady job and there's no way he can find us_.” At eight, the words had sounded like gold, like godsend, and I'd nodded my head so hard I looked like a bobble head.

It had been almost ten years. I'd seen my mother twice. I had her cell number, but I wasn't allowed to give it to Dad. He made me call her almost every night. She picked up once a month or so.

“Dad, I- I just can’t.” I cursed myself for stuttering, a habit that manifested itself whenever I was flustered. One my dad hated with a passion. “You have to understand, it’s just, it’s just so hard for me-”

“Simon,” he snapped. I jerked back as though I'd been smacked. “Go get the phone and call your mother. I want to hear her voice.”

“You only ever hear it on the answering machine,” I muttered in defiance, but he had already won this battle, just like he'd won every battle before and would win every battle after. I went out to grab my jacket and reached into the pocket, pulling out my phone. Her number was under ‘L’ in my contacts; Lucy, not Mom. Even before she’d left, she wasn’t Mom. I always just called her Lucy, and she would ruffle my hair and smile. “ _My rosebud boy,_ ” she would say, and she'd be sunshine personified. Her hair was frizzy waves down to her waist and yellow as corn, her shoulders broad like my own, eyes big and blue. Freckles dotted her cheeks. She was stubborn, and smart, and often put her foot in her mouth. Everyone always told me I was just like her.

I didn't even know her. I was a carbon copy of a woman I would never understand.

I was a carbon copy of someone who _left_.

I shook my head as if I could cast off the thoughts, and my curls bounced and fell over my forehead. I pressed the call button shakily, put it on speaker, then walked back into the living room. I didn't sit, just stood in the middle of the room and watched my father’s eyes widen with each ring. It was my least favorite sound.

After four rings, something clicked. I almost dropped the phone. “Hello?” She asked, and it felt like a knife driven into my heart that she didn't know who it was. I wasn't even in her contacts list. My name didn’t even pop up on her screen.

“Hi, Lucy,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if it was loud enough for her to hear over the phone, but when she sighed, I knew it had been.

“Simon,” she replied, more of a dismissal than a hello. “How have you been?”

She didn't want the real answer. “Fine, just fine.” I tried to make my voice sound happy. “Just checking in, seeing how things are going.” Dad leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, drinking in the sound of her. He was enraptured.

“Things are going great, thank you for asking.” Her tone was curt. Her disinterest was clear, but she wasn’t outwardly rude- rather, her rudeness was subtle, hidden under layers of carefully constructed false emotion. “How is school?”

“Fantastic, I was on honor roll last quarter.” I’d told her this already, but she hadn’t reacted then. Maybe she would this time.

“That’s lovely,” she muttered. She sounded distracted. “I've been thinking- wait, is your father listening? You know I hate that.” My heart jumped into my throat. This sounded bad. This sounded very bad.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I can turn it off speaker if you like.”

“Please.” She was irritated, I could tell. I pressed the button, and Dad slumped back onto the couch. I gave him a halfhearted smile and he gave me a thumbs up before zoning out on the TV again. I took the opportunity to slip up into my room.

“I’m in my room now,” I told her when the door was shut. Shoving laundry off my bed, I sat down on the edge of the stiff mattress. “Dad’s still downstairs.” It made me uneasy sometimes, that I could say things like that and she’d know exactly where I was, exactly what everything looked like. I forgot sometimes that this had been her house, at one point, that she’d lived here for years, that it hadn’t changed a bit since she’d left. Well, we’d replaced the carpeting, but that hardly counted.

“Good.” Her voice was a little warmer now, a pleasant surprise. Dad made her itchy, she said. After my last visit, some five years ago, she’d dropped me off at the bus station and told me to walk home. It wasn’t me, she assured me, but rather _Davy_. She said it like a curse. She wanted nothing to do with him. She'd see me next Christmas. (One of those statements was a lie- you can guess which one.)

“What were you going to say?”

“I was thinking…” She paused, as if considering taking it back before she’d even begun. “Anyway, I was thinking maybe you should come and visit for a while. You’re old enough to drive yourself now, yeah? Sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” I corrected. I couldn't even be hurt by the fact that she had forgotten my birthday in June. I was too shocked at the offer.

“Sorry, sorry! But yeah, Trevor and I have been discussing it, and with the baby on the way, we figured we should start letting you back into our lives. A little at a time, you know? Come up for lunch, then maybe stay a weekend a month?” Trevor was her new fiancé, that much I knew but... The baby? She paused, gauging my reaction, but I said nothing. “I just want to get to know you, Rosebud. I never meant for it to be like this.”

It was my childhood nickname that got through to me. All the words she'd said finally came crashing through my skull into my brain all at once, and it took everything I had not to start bawling like a child. “I-” I began, but my voice cracked. “I’m going to have to think about it.”

“I understand.”

So many words threatened to jump from my mouth that I had to clench my jaw. _Why did you leave_? I wanted to scream. _Why wasn’t I enough for you_?

Some questions just can’t be answered.

“I have to go,” I said in clipped, robotic words before hanging up. Memories scratched out of their cages in the back of my brain, forcing themselves into the forefront.

“Go away,” I hissed at them. “I don’t want you. I don’t need you. I don't _need_ her.”

And yet, there she was, splashing in the ocean with me on a hot summer day. Her sundress was flowy and white, looked like something Agatha would wear. Her eyes flashed in the sun. There she was, comforting me when I was sick, running her fingers through my sweat-soaked here. “ _There, there, Rosebud_ ,” she was cooing at me. “ _You’re sweating out your fever. It’ll all be alright soon enough_.” There she was, laughing behind a camera as she snapped pictures at my fifth birthday party. A pink party hat sat lopsided on her head.

There she was, with an overstuffed suitcase in her hand, standing at the door. Defiant tears running down her face.

There she was, leaving. Not even waving. Not even looking back.

There I was. Alone.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When sleep fails, Simon opts to phone a friend.

I felt bad when he answered the phone. It was obvious he'd just woken up. His voice was thick with sleep when he spoke.

  
“Hello?”

  
“It’s Simon,” I rushed to explain, speaking through the tears. Now that we were talking, I could see what a bad idea this was. It was two in the morning, for Merlin’s sake, and I was calling a guy I’d spoken to four times, maximum. But surely he gave me his number with the expectation that I’d use it, eventually? Besides, I couldn't do this anymore. It'd been hours, and I just couldn't do it.

  
“Simon?” He asked, instantly sounding more awake. “What’s the matter? It’s so late.”

  
“I know. I know,” I replied, trying not to cry. It was pointless. “I’m sorry. I’ll go, if you want.”

  
“No, no,” he said quickly. “Just tell me what’s the matter.”

  
“It’s- I just- I didn’t know who else to call, and I tried Penny but she didn’t pick up and then I tried Agatha, but she just got pissed off and told me not to call her so late, and I realized that I had your number in my contacts and- and…”

  
“Shh,” Baz soothed from the other end. I heard shuffling noises in the background. “I’m getting dressed right now. Do you need me to come get you?”

  
“Would you do that?” I whimpered. “I just need to get out of here.”

  
“Of course. I’ll be over in ten.”

  
“Be quiet when you get here- I don’t want my dad to wake up.”

  
“No problem. I’ll see you in a few-”

  
“Wait! Could you… Could you stay on the phone with me?” I felt stupid the second the words left my mouth- I sounded like a needy child. What was wrong with me?

  
But Baz didn't sound like he thought I was stupid at all. Something changed in his tone, something I couldn't quite place, and he got quiet. I could almost see his pale grey eyes softening, the smirk fading from his face. “Of course, Simon. Why don't you tell me what happened?”

  
I was silent for a minute, and I heard the slamming of a car door and the revving of an engine from the other side of the line. Every time I tried to speak, the words got caught up in my mouth and came out as choked sobs.

  
“It's alright, little puff,” Baz cooed through the crackly connection. Strange enough, the pet name didn't bother me like I would have figured. He said it and it felt like a soft, downy blanket settling over me, like a hot cup of tea in my hands. It was comfort personified, and I couldn't help but like it. “Everything's going to be okay.”

  
“It's just… My mom,” I managed to stammer after a while. “I talked to her today.”

  
Baz hummed in a way that I knew meant he was listening, waiting for me to continue. So I did.

  
“I haven't seen her since I was ten,” I blubbered. “I went over for Christmas with her and when Dad showed up they fought, so bad. The neighbors called the cops. And then he took me back home, and she called less and less, kept making promises that I could- that I could come over again next Christmas, or spend the weekend, but there was always some excuse when the time rolled around. Until she stopped calling, stopped offering. And then she stopped answering the phone most of the time, and she stopped wanting me. And she- she stopped loving me, I think.”

  
“Simon,” Baz whispered into the receiver. “How could anyone not love you?”

  
The statement caught me a bit off guard. It sounded so candid, so heartfelt. It didn't sound as though it was coming from someone I'd just met- but then again, he must have liked me more than a bit to drive to my house in the middle of the night. I supposed he was just trying to be reassuring, to remind me that there were lots of people out there who cared about me. But it somehow seemed like it meant more.

  
It was a silly thought. I pushed it from my head. “I….” I began, but I didn't know how to continue. Should I thank him? Maybe a thank you was only appropriate if you agreed with the compliment, and I didn't. Should I disagree, then? No, that seemed rude. I stayed silent.

  
It was comforting to know he was there, even if neither of us was speaking. I listened to him breathing on the other line, listened to the sound of the wheels rolling over pavement. “I'm turning onto your road,” he said after a few minutes. “I'll be there in a second.”

  
It was only then that I realized I was still in my pajamas, my hair sweaty and matted from thrashing about in bed, plagued by nightmares. It was chilly outside, and I didn't even have a shirt on, but to be honest I didn't care. I just wanted out.

  
I heard the sound of a car crunching on the gravel of my driveway and rushed out onto the porch, hanging up the phone as I opened the door. Baz waved half heartedly. I couldn't quite see his face in the dark, but I hurried down the stairs and got into the passenger door. The grass was wet and freezing on my bare feet.

  
“Are you alright?” Baz questioned after I shut the door, glancing pointedly at my puffy, red eyes and general disheveled appearance.

  
“Not really,” I confessed, slumping backwards into my seat and pulling the seatbelt over my bare chest. The fabric rubbed uncomfortably on my skin, but Baz's car was warm and it hummed in a nice way as he pulled out and began to drive and it smelled like he smelled- cedar and bergamot, with a hint of peppermint. He had the radio on low, playing classical music, and while I normally couldn't stand classical (no lyrics means no loud, tone deaf singalong sessions) I could understand the calming effect it had on people. “Better now.”

  
“I was going to take you out somewhere, but you don't even have on shoes,” he mumbled, more to himself than to me. “Aren't you freezing?”

  
“Not so cold. More tired.” I yawned. “Thank you, by the way,” I said, quiet, looking over at him. He was focused on the road, and he looked more casual than I'd ever seen him (of course, I hadn't seen him very many times, but still; it was a drastic difference). His hair was tied up in a messy bun with a few strands framing his face. He wore a baggy grey sweatshirt reading “Somerville Varsity Football” with the sleeves pushed up and an old pair of jeans, worn at the knees.

  
He looked beautiful.

  
The thought was intrusive, and I blushed in spite of myself. He hadn't heard me. “I said thank you. You didn't have to do this.”

  
“Of course I did,” he responded, glancing over at me for a second. “What kind of friend would I be if I left you stranded when you needed help?”

  
Friend? That seemed like a good sign. We were… Friends. Just friends. Friends help friends out. That was what was happening here, the strange butterflies in my stomach be damned.

  
“I guess not a very good one,” I responded, but all I could think about was Agatha. “ _What the hell, Simon_?” She'd snarled at me. “ _It's two in the fucking morning._ ”

  
Apparently my emotions showed more clearly on my face than I thought. “Hey,” Baz muttered, reaching one hand off the steering wheel and resting it on my shoulder. “It's gonna be alright." His thumb rubbed reassuring patterns into my skin. His hands were cold, and they sent a chill down my back. “I'm gonna stop at my house to get a shirt and shoes for you, and then we're grabbing something to eat.”

  
I almost protested when he pulled his hand away, but I caught myself. “That- that sounds good.”

  
It was quiet, but it wasn't an awkward quiet. Neither of us had anything to say, and that was okay. Sometimes, if he recognized a song, Baz would turn up the radio a little and hum along. His voice was pleasant though not award-winning. It sounded warm and rich like melted chocolate, or like the tone of his skin. I stared down into my lap and focused on my breathing. It was nice to be here, away from everything but soothing music and cedar-scented cologne and a sweet boy in scuffed up Nikes. I was better here, I told myself, and I tried to calm down. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be.

  
“We're here,” Baz announced, pulling into the start of a long driveway. His house (more like his mansion) was astonishing. It had a sprawling green lawn and a lovely garden, even in late autumn bursting with life. It was tall and grand and it looked- unlived in. They had just moved in, but it was something else. It looked like the kind of place that couldn't retain memories.

  
“Wow… You really are rich,” I breathed.

  
“We're pretty well off, yeah,” Baz replied in an offhanded manner. “But that doesn't mean much of anything.”

  
“I suppose not.”

  
He parked near the house and got out. When he opened the door, a cold gust of wind hit me, and I shuddered away. “I'll grab something warm,” he promised, and rushed inside.

  
He was only gone a few minutes, but without him there and in the warmth of the car, I dozed off. My head slumped against the support of the seatbelt and I was out.

  
I awoke to someone shaking my shoulders, and it took me a minute to process where I was. When I saw Baz, I smiled stupidly.

  
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he teased, tossing a black and grey striped sweater at me. It was soft as down and looked nicer than everything I owned. “It might be a little tight around the shoulders, but there's nothing I can do about that.”

  
“Thanks,” I said, unbuckling and pulling it over my head, it smelled like laundry detergent, but a little bit of Baz, too. It felt nice as I pulled it down over my torso, but he was right about the shoulders. I made a mental note not to move my arms too extremely as he handed me the shoes.

  
“I don't know what size you are,” he said apologetically, looking at the brown slippers with a hint of disdain. “You're shorter than me, so I went with the last pair I outgrew, but I can run back in if they don't fit.”

  
“They're fine,” I assured him, slipping them on. The insides were fluffy cotton. I wiggled my toes around, and Baz chuckled when he noticed my feet moving.

  
“Like ‘em?” He laughed. I nodded. “You can keep them, then. The sweater, too. I have plenty like it.”

  
“Oh, no, they're too nice. I couldn't-”

  
“Don't make it weird,” he interrupted. “Now, I don't know about you, but I'm thinking waffles, and Siri says there's a 24-hour iHop not too far away. What do you say?”

  
I just nodded. Anything I could have said wouldn't have been enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been so busy lately! I hope you guys enjoy. I've had limited internet access, so sorry that I've been gone so long! I'm really excited about this though, I'm trying out first person, which I don't use very much, so wish me luck! :) As always, Constructive criticism is welcome and wanted. ^_^


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